O riders weary with the road, Come eat and drink on the grass hereby! And lay you down in a fair abode Till the midday sun is broad and high; Then unto you shall we come aback, And lead you forth to the Mountain-men, To note their plenty and their lack, And have true tidings there and then. ’Tis over the hill and over the dale They ride from the mountain fast and far; And now have they learned a soothfast tale, True tidings of the host of war. It was summer-tide and the Month of Hay, And men and maids must fare afield; But we saw the place were the bow-staves lay, And the hall was hung with spear and shield. When the moon was high we drank in the hall, And they drank to the guests and were kind and blithe, And they said: Come back when the chestnuts fall, And the wine-carts wend across the hythe. Come oft and o’er again, they said; Wander your ways; but we abide For all the world in the little stead; For wise are we, though the world be wide. Yea, come in arms if ye will, they said; And despite your host shall we abide For life or death in the little stead; For wise are we, though the world be wide. So she made an end and looked at the fairness of the dale spreading wide before her, and a robin came nigh from out of a thorn-bush and sung his song also, the sweet herald of coming winter; and the lapwings wheeled about, black and white, above the meadow by the river, sending forth their wheedling pipe as they hung above the soft turf. She felt the brothers near her, and knew their friendliness from of old, and she was happy; nor had she looked closer at Gold-mane would she have noted any change in him belike; for the meat and the good wine, and the fair sunny time, and the Bride’s sweet voice, and the ancient song softened his heart while it fed the desire therein. So in a while they arose from their rest and did what was left them of their work, and so went back to Burgstead through the fair afternoon; by seeming all three in all content. But yet Gold-mane, as from time to time he looked upon the Bride, kept saying to himself: ‘O if she had been but my sister! sweet had the kinship been!’ CHAPTER X. NEW TIDINGS IN THE DALE.